WorryWade Wilson and PoutyPete Parker - A Tragedy in Five Acts
by ThanksIllPass
Summary: After Spidey gets horribly injured, Wade becomes the biggest worrywart of all fandom history.


"Where do you think you're going, Peter?!"

Peter freezes mid-step and turns his head around to look at Wade. He's wearing his lady-in-bikini apron, has cookie dough on his hands and face, and looks… _livid_.

"To the… bathroom?" Peter asks uncertainly. He doesn't like Wade when he's angry. No one does.

"Over my dead body, which, let me tell you, ain't gonna happen any time soon!" Wade snaps. He takes a few long angry strides across the living room and puts Peter's arm around his shoulder. He takes a calming breath and attempts a gentle smile which looks like something akin to what your face turns into after you eat a lemon. "Come on, slowly, baby steps. And if I see you getting up on your own again, I'm gonna kill you myself. I've killed for less."

Peter splutters and tries to break free from Wade's arms. This is not happening! He is not a baby, he doesn't need to be taken to the fucking bathroom! What the hell is Wade's problem anyway?!

"Fuck, Peter, stop _squirming_! You're gonna pull your stitches! You think it's a joke? You were nearly_eviscerated_! I had to keep your guts from spilling outta your body, okay?!"

Oh right, _that_.

—-

Peter got injured so badly there wasn't even a slight chance of covering it up. Wade stripped him out of his costume and took him to the hospital in only his underwear. He told the doctors he had found Peter in this state on the sidewalk. Later Peter was quite surprised Wade hadn't just put a post-it-note on his forehead and bailed to avoid questions. He wasn't surprised, however, that Wade had dealt with questions by taking out his gun and almost blowing the doctor's head off for wasting time on pointless chatter while Peter was _dying_. He scared everyone in the hospital so badly that no one dared to move him from Peter's side, let alone question why did some stranger who had just found a dying man on the sidewalk flipped his shit so much. They even told the police Wade was next of kin and someone else had left Peter under the hospital's door.

When Peter finally gained consciousness, Wade was dosing off in a chair next to his bed, clutching at Spider-Man's mask like a security blanket.

After he got released from hospital, the telephone wouldn't stop ringing. Everyone wanted to come and visit because they weren't allowed to see him in the hospital. Peter suspected the doctors had been too scared to upset Wade to let anyone near Peter; not even Aunt May – his _real_ next of kin. But Peter was tired and on a lot of medication, and he just wanted to sleep. So he got in the bed and let Wade answer the calls. He regretted it the moment he heard Wade say, "But can you actually _prove_ you're the real Aunt May?" He drifted off to sleep with murder on his mind.

First morning home was… peculiar. Wade brought him breakfast to bed and _spoon-fed_ him. He fixed his pillows seven times in nine minutes. He _brushed his teeth_ for him. Every word for punctuated with a delicate squeeze on his hand and every "I'll be right back" was followed by a kiss on the forehead. Peter would deny to his dying day that he as much as flushed even once. This wasn't cute or endearing or flattering. It was _humiliating_, that's what it was. Even Aunt May hadn't hovered over him like that when he was eight and had mono. And still, whenever Wade drowned (it wasn't even showering anymore) him in attention – asking every two minutes if he needs anything, carrying him everywhere, doing everything for him, including helping him eat, wash and, _God_, use the toilet; constantly touching, kissing, fretting over every little independent movements on Peter's part – Peter couldn't help but get ridiculously flustered. He wasn't used to it, not to this extent, and certainly not from someone so unexpected, not with such devotion. It was confusing, to say the least. So if he wanted to embrace the treatment as much as he wanted to protest against it… well, he could always blame it on the painkillers.

The first person to come with a visit was obviously Aunt May, together with Mary Jane. Luckily, by that time Wade had moved (carried bridal style) Peter to the couch, so he could stop Wade from shutting the door in the ladies' faces. Wade reluctantly let them in but didn't let them close to Peter before ordering them to empty their purses and asking them personal questions about Peter's life to confirm their identity. He was particularly suspicious of Mary Jane, but that was more out of jealousy after she provided the right amount of moles on Peter's left thigh.

"Look, Aunt May, I _really_ want to trust you, you know that, I adore you more than the Queen of Mexico, Senora Chimichanga del Taco, but you could be _anyone_, you could be a Skrull, or, or a _robot_ sent from the future to take Peter's precious life!" Wade rambled, as MJ winked at Peter and pointed at Wade before making a sign generally recognized as "crazy." Peter mouthed "I know" and smiled affectionately. "You can call me crazy and paranoid all you want Peter, I don't care. All I care about is that something like this never happens to you again."

Peter's eyes widened in surprise and he felt himself turn seven different shades of red, because, wow, that was intense. The silence that followed was heavy and depressing, reminding everyone in the room of what had happened. Well, maybe not Wade – it seemed to be the only thing that Wade thought about these days. Finally, Mary Jane chuckled and congratulated Peter on letting a total psycho into his bed. Peter knew it was only to lighten the mood, but he worried if Wade realized that too. Even if he hadn't, it didn't matter after Aunt May placed a thin hand on Wade's cheek, wordlessly urging him to lean down, and kissed his forehead, smiling softly, gratefully. Wade closed his eyes, and his face smoothened, like at least half of all his worries were taken away just by that.

"Peter secretly hates my meatballs," Aunt May whispered.

Wade leaned back and shouted in outrage, turning to Peter. "Is it true, Peter Parker, because if this is true that you hate May's heavenly rainbowed meatballs, I swear to God Almighty, we're over!"

Aunt May pulled Wade's ear and brought his face to his. "Don't you call your Lord's name in vain, my boy, or you won't get any meatballs I brought today."

MJ laughed, finally flopping down next to Peter and kissing his cheek, and Wade pulled mockingly resisting May into a hug, peppering her gray hair with kisses and spewing all kinds of praised he could think of.

"Yay," Peter croaked. "Meatballs."

—-

"Wade, that was four weeks ago! I healed! I super-healed! I'm alright now, you know that, right? Good as new, better even, if you can call me getting fat on your obsessive cooking a good thing. And nothing's gonna happen to me now. I recovered, I rested, I let you take care of me. You checked _all_ of my friends! I'm surprised that they _stayed_ friends with me after meeting you and your paranoia… You threw out every get-well gift that "didn't feel right" before opening, and you intimidated the pizza guy into quitting his job and going to Africa! God, Wade, you wanted to _strip-search_ Johnny Storm!"

"Well, I've never seen him out of his Fantastic Four costume or, you know, on fire, before! I thought he was hiding something under that jacket! You can never be too careful with fake blond poster boys like him."

Peter groans and throws his hands in the air. This is beyond ridiculous and this has to stop! Wade doesn't seem to realize that Peter has already recovered, that he feels fine, not to mention is able to go to the bathroom by himself. Wade is just being a bother at this point, and Peter will go crazy at this rate, completely insane!

Wade suddenly looks hurt and Peter realizes that some part of his internal monolog must have slipped out. Fantastic. He wants to apologize, but Wade turns around and goes back to the kitchen. Peter wants to go after him, but he also needs to pee, real bad. He doesn't want to hurt Wade, but he wants him to stop this nonsense even more. Peter knows he is in the right this time. He won't fall back – not after a month of sheer absurd that Wade turned his life into _for no good reason_.

"It's his natural hair color, by the way!" he shouts and storms off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

—-

Thanks to his Spidey powers Peter healed well and fast. Wade didn't step from his self-assumed position as Peter's babysitter/nurse/bodyguard and hovered over him til the last day. Actually, he didn't stop even after that. When Peter got back to classes, Wade was there with him. He wanted to learn more about chaos theory, because hanging out with Peter had made him realize Jeff Goldblum's definition wasn't enough anymore. That was the official reason anyway. The real reason quickly revealed itself when one of Peter's classmates came over to lend Peter his notes. Let's just say that Peter wouldn't be having the luxury of asking him for notes after that incident.

Peter gritted his teeth and _endured_. Wade was just worried. It was difficult for him to just accept the fact Peter didn't need him following his every step anymore. Peter got that. Wade just wanted to protect him and make sure nothing bad would happen to him. Peter appreciate that.

What he didn't appreciate was Wade following him to work and glaring down every single one of his co-workers until they agreed to keeping their distance. He didn't appreciate Wade flipping the whole office upside down in search of bugs and bombs and God knows what else. If Jonah had been at work that day, Peter would never find a job anywhere in the country.

Peter took aspirin and _persevered_. That might have been a bit extreme but Wade he knew and like was precisely that – extreme. Peter didn't hate that. Wade simply had unusual and eccentric ways to assure Peter's safety and well-being. Peter didn't resent that.

What he did resent was arriving at the crime scene and finding Wade accepting standing ovation from the crowd for kicking _Peter's_ villains and criminals' asses _for_ him. Every. Single. Night. Peter never even got the chance to step in and help, because Wade was always conveniently leaving stove turned on, or water running, or cookies baking, or deliveries to be expected, or whatever the hell he could before he left. He was doing it all on purpose, to delay Peter and go out there alone. And Peter had _had_ it.

"What the hell, Wade?" he snapped, pushing Wade into a wall. "What's going on? Is someone paying you now to take out petty criminals?" Wade laughed like Peter had just told him a great joke. "Then what? Why are you doing this? Did you finally decided to stop being a mercenary to become a superhero and forgot to tell me?"

Wade shook his head, and Peter eased off his hold on Wade's shoulder. "Superheroes run on way too short a leash, man. Not for me. Besides, money is money and money is- uh- I forgot what I was going to say."

Peter was sick of this. All this, mystery and not knowing what was going through Wade's head. He couldn't understand any of it and it was driving him crazy. He didn't want to be angry at Wade, but it had been nearly impossible to accomplish even without Wade messing with his Spider-Man business! "Then what the hell is going on Wade?! Why are you trying to keep me from doing my job?"

"Because it's _not_ your job," Wade finally snapped, pushing Peter away as gently as he could. "It's not your job, Peter," he repeated more softly. "That's the whole point. No one is paying you to do that."

Peter was confused. Wade wasn't making any sense, which was a lot coming from someone who had lived with him for three months, and that was _including_ four weeks of his recovery. He wanted to ask, to urge Wade to explain, but he couldn't find the right words. His head was swimming, because he had never heard Wade so serious and so… _scared_. Deadpool was scared, and how could Peter ever react to _that_?

"It's not your job to, to… to go _out there_ and put your life at risk for, for… for _nothing_!"

Peter snapped his head up to look at Wade. He couldn't see his face, and Wade couldn't see his. They were looking at each other, but not _seeing_ each other, and not only literally right at this moment, but in general, and Peter was _furious_. Because as much as he was angry at himself for not seeing Wade and his fears, he was angry at Wade for not seeing Peter and what being Spider-Man meant to him. He couldn't deal with that, not acting on adrenaline and emotions. He needed to think. He flung his web up and looked down at Wade when he was still in the hearing range.

"It's not for _nothing_. And _don't_ follow me."

Peter half expect Wade to not be home when he got back. But he was there, on _their_ couch, watching the snow on the TV screen. Something seized in Peter's heart and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. He sat down next to him and laced their fingers together. He told Wade about Uncle Ben. Wade didn't say anything, he just listened. Then he took Peter to _their_ bed and fell asleep in his arms.

—-

That's what Peter remembers when he's taking a leak. He needs to fix this, all of this. They need to_communicate_. Like adults. They need to _see_, both of them. He can't just throw it all away, he just can't. He won't. He washes his hands and walks out of the bathroom, and Wade is there, leaning against the wall.

"If I'm such a pest then why won't you kick me out and go live in Baxter Building?"

So much for mature communication and fixing things.

"That's it! That's it, Wade, I'm done! I'm done with you and your bullshit! So either you talk now and explain everything that's been going on since I got gutted, which, let me remind you, I recovered from splendidly, or I will kick you out. Spill."

Wade backs off the wall and stands right in front Peter, hovering over him and such menacing way Peter misses his overprotective hovering. "Whatever, I don't need this shit. Go on and kick me out if that's what you want."

"No, you don't understand, when I say spill or I will kick your ass out, what I actually mean is spill or I will kick your _head in_." Never say that Peter can't act like a man. A brain-damaged man, but man nonetheless.

"Is that what you want, Peter?" Wade shouts. "You wanna fight? You want me to kill ya?"

"I WANT YOU TO TALK TO ME, DAMN IT!"

Wade's eyes widen and roam over Peter's face. Peter's chest is rising and falling steadily but Peter feels like it's getting harder to breathe with every second. There. It's finally out. All Wade has to do now is take it or leave it. Wade's shoulders sag and he runs his hand over his face.

"I can't take it, Peter! I can't take _you_! It's too much for me! I'm going to outlive you, no matter what! That's the worst thing that could happen to me and it will happen! I can't die! And you can! You can and you_will_! Do you understand that?! I will have to watch you die at some point and I don't want that! I don't want to see you die, so excuse me for doing anything I can to delay it since I can't prevent it! I don't want you to die in some gutter on the street full of filth and rats! I want you to die of old age Peter! And I want to _be_ there when you do, when your face is finally wrinkled and sagged and as ugly as mine, but I _don't_ want to at the same time! Because I can't even watch you die like that, I can't! I can't _lose_ you, do you understand?! I _love_ you!"

Peter's breath hitches and Wade clams his mouth, his jaw a stiff line. He clearly didn't mean to say it. He_means_ it but he didn't mean to say it. Peter can _see_ that. Peter can finally see everything. And he doesn't like it. He won't let Wade to take _this_ from himself, from the both of them. Not like this, not _for_this.

"I love you too, you idiot," he whispers, his eyes starting to sting. "How can you not know that?"

"I-"

"No. Shut up. Now _I'm_ talking. No, to be honest, I don't want to talk at all, not now. I wanna kiss you. I wanna kiss you so bad because I love you and you were _insufferable_ this past month and we're still_together_ because we love each other, Wade! You're not in some temporary fantasy, you're not gonna wake up hurt and alone one day, not if I can help it! It's not a dream, it's your _life_! It's _our_ life! And we need to talk about this, we _really_ do, because we have some _serious_ communication issues, but not now. Not now. Please, just kiss me, because we hadn't had sex for a month, Wade, a _month_!

Wade whimpers and grabs Peter's head with his hands, runs them through his hair, joins their foreheads together. "God, that was absolutely the _worst_ part of all this."

Peter laughs, because he's pretty sure he can think of at least five worse things that have happened this month, but he wraps his hands around Wade's neck and kisses him anyway.


End file.
